Portraits
by Lingual Copper
Summary: Dr. Lecter has to have neighbours... a foreign artist moves into the house next to his own. What has to happen to change a man, for better - or worse? (OC, NO SLASH)
1. The doorstopper

**A/N I've just finished watching to episode 12 of the first season of Hannibal – and loved it (why'd I be here else?) I searched and failed to find any decent (heterosexual, mind you) stories - that did sadden me and so, I am going to try and empathise best I can with the characters J hope you like it.**

Moving trucks started arriving at Dr. Lecter's neighbouring property; someone had bought the tall, slim building from the previous owner. He was standing at the window looking out, hidden from view by the fine curtain catching webs of yellow rays from the high morning sun and casting shrouded shapes on the wooden floors.

Men scurried around in pairs with large pieces of furniture covered by protective fabric. The front door and garage stood wide open, allowing the ants easy exit and enter easily. Their muffled voices drifted up to his ears and he thought it one of the worst jobs in the world, if you turned a blind eye on plumbers and politicians... but they are a necessary cog of urban society, of course.

He loosened his hands from behind his back and thrust them in his pockets, regarding the changing scene with mild interest.

A smoky silver Audi drove up and pulled into the driveway where a reserved spot was thoughtfully left open by the movers. Dr. Lecter watched as the distant figure of a woman got out and walked briskly into the churning chaos of her new home. Her features were mostly covered by the thick navy coat she wore over her clothes to keep winter's final claws from her skin.

A polite cough drew him back to his own home and he turned slightly to see if the fat man in the leather chair had ceased his incessant crying. The soaked tissue was wrung between his fingers but his red rimmed eyes were raised expectantly to his psychiatrist. And so Hannibal returned to his seat.

Months passed and the building next to his morphed into a comfort zone for the new owner. The boxes pressing against the glass of the windows disappeared and drapes or blinded were hung in their stead. The driveway seemed to be filled mostly with private vehicles and small business trucks, carpenters and the sort.

The starving garden received some much needed attention and the pool was uncovered, cleaned and tiled a dark shade of grey. He noticed a gazebo set up with care, the dark wood blending into the small thicket of orange trees filling most of the space in the rectangle shaped backyard.

A collection of clay heads, all evidently created by hand and all shorting craniums with various plants growing like hair from the pots were arranged in a bed surrounded by rocks and nasturtiums. The first time he laid eyes on the fascinating display he caught himself with a half smile, the choir of heads with roots for brains amused him somehow, and the doctor considered his curiosity tickled.

It was exactly 7:45 pm and Hannibal started preparing his supper for guests he was expecting later that evening. He was engrossed in the task of carefully skinning a leg, looking for tender pieces of meat to add to the duck's stuffing. He did not fancy wasting good meat after all.

As he checked on the steaming pot of couscous movement out of the corner of his eye and a wet thud caught his immediate attention, he was supposed to be alone.

He rounded the kitchen isle with uncommon haste and found the guilty party halfway to the window cracked open. A shaggy grey feline glanced back at him, a toe from the leg he was previously busy with lodged in it's teeth. His mouth twitched and he dragged a hand over the back of his neck as he was helpless to watch the cat escape with an off-cut of his hunt. He did not have to think long, the only option was to get it back, toes could not be seen lying around.

He left the back door open as he passed through it, calling softly to the cat. His eyes adjusted to the darkness outside and he picked the shape of the animal climbing over the chest-height wooden fence between his own premises and the neighbour's. His mouth felt dry as he set after it.

He was calling tenderly to the cat he honestly wanted very much to skin alive, it sat near his neighbour's backdoor, holding him in the same unblinking gaze he held it in. He was sitting on his heels, edging ever closer to the cornered cat with one hand stretched toward it.

The next moments seemed to happen all at once. He lurched forward and grabbed the cat, wrenched the toe roughly from the thief's mouth and the owner opened the door, light streaming over him and the cat. Letting the cat drop to the ground unharmed took all the willpower he possessed and as he turned to face the woman standing above him for the first time, he slid the toe behind his back with the ease of a practiced magician.

"Hi." She greeted him, her voice betraying caution.

"Good evening... your cat," He almost faltered. "... Seemed to have stolen my doorstopper. I apologize for –"

"Your doorstopper?" The woman cut him off, he could not see her face with the sharp light at her back but he did catch a glimpse of the cat slinking up the few stairs and round it's mistresses' ankles. He noticed a faint British accent on her tongue.

"Yes." He replied simply, almost curtly. He straightened himself to his full height and brushed his hands down the front of his suit.

"Oh... well, you got it back from Richard, yes? It's quite alright... Mr.?"

"Lecter, Hannibal Lecter from 106, pleased to meet you." He raised his tone to a more friendly level, reaching to shake her hand. Richard? Silly name for a cat.

"Adelaide Heij." She took his hand, her grip stronger than he expected. He was able to make out her features in the dark, he noted her hair first, a white blonde hue, the fringe cut to frame her face in a rounded shape. The hair almost hung in her large pale eyes, darkened with make-up and drawing his attention from her pale lips and sharp chin.

"How long have you been living next door?"

"From you, a few months," he smiled briefly, reassuringly. "But I moved in about five years ago. If I might ask, where are from Miss. Heij?"

"Please, call me Adelaide." She smiled his own smile back at him, "I moved here from Rotterdam, but originally, London."

"A stranger in the country then?"

"Not at all, I've travel some for work."

Hannibal shifted his weight to his other leg and brought both his hands behind his back, the toe still gripped tightly in his one fist.

"What is it you do exactly?" He was attempting, and succeeding at keeping her busy enough with conversation that she wouldn't notice him moving again, both of his hands into the pockets of his trousers where he was finally able to drop the toe.

"I'm generally considered an artist." She smiled the words.

"I'm an enthusiast myself." He smiled again. "I would like to meet my neighbour properly, would you like to come over for dinner sometime?"

Hannibal liked guests around his table.

"Not at all, but why not rather come here, on Saturday?" He noted the casualty in her voice, the way she made it seem like no big a deal, and decided to make an exception, he was the intruder her e after all and it would be rude to refuse in his position.

"Let me cook, at least."

She chuckled lightly, "I don't see why not."

"Perfect. Have a fine evening Adelaide, and again, my apologies."

"And to you, see you on Saturday." She answered as he turned to leave.

"Hannibal?" She called, like an afterthought.

"Yes?" He turned back; she was still standing on the back porch, her palms crossed at her stomach.

"What is it you do?"

"I'm a psychiatrist." He answered from the darkness.


	2. A next time

**A/N here's another one, I want to get to the good stuff!**

Saturday came as any other would, Hannibal had spent a few hours of it preparing the ideal tender roast with German mustard and fresh cibleme. He finished packing the meal neatly into various ceramic containers and walked over next door to ring Adelaide's bell at exactly 8:00 pm.

A warm golden glow burst from inside as she opened the door for him with a smile and a greeting him in return. He followed her inside and let his eyes wander over her for a mere moment, her light hair was partially tied in a loose twist at the back of her head, the rest tumbling smoothly down to the middle of her back. She wore a long closefitting emerald dress with a short black velvet jacket tying at the dip of her waist and fastened at the back in a subtle bow, the velvet tendrils hanging over her buttocks and swaying with her hips as she turned to walk up the stairs cutting up from the foyer. He could see the small black leather ballerina slippers she wore when she mounted the stairs but he stayed behind on the landing when he set eyes on the walls of the room. It was painted into a wild, dark forest with loose strokes accurately sculpting the vibrant earthy colours into trunks, no light staining through the leafless branches to shed light on the sinister albeit romantic atmosphere of the scene she must have created herself. The floor was covered with a loose Persian rug and at the leg of a small cherry wood table the cursed cat's scratching pole attempted to hide and _ruined_ the twisted perfection of it all.

Hannibal was careful with the design of his decor; everything in his home went together like red wine and red meat. He'd always considered himself appreciative of the finer things in life; art, music, good food... most people underestimated or simply overlooked the intense value of true beauty.

His thoughts was abruptly interrupted by a faint smell, he tilted his head toward carefully and breathed in deeply. Rose water, a soft scent and somehow very familiar to his memory. He thought better of closing his eyes and turned to face the woman who had returned when she realised her guest was not following her up the stairs. She wore no perfume, he knew what he smelled on her was all natural, and strangely pleasing. Honest and luring.

She did not ask anything as he had expected someone else to perhaps do; she merely stopped and looked at him, her smile not fading from her features.

"You did this." It was no question, just an observation.

"Yes." She answered and looked back to the wall his eyes had been on together for a second before she continued. "You should come upstairs, there's plenty more children of mine to be met."

Hannibal quirked the corner of a lip and bent his head slightly to her in a small bow. This made her smile grow before it fell into a more serious line on her face and she disappeared up the stairs again. He followed her this time, pausing at the top to look at the main landing.

There was no walls separating the kitchen from the sitting room, a half open door at the far side marked the guest bathroom and another next to it remained a mystery to him as the next landing and main rooms were suspended overhead on steel cables with a square cut into the hanging wooden floor, joining the landings and sharing the light from the windows at day time.

The walls were all painted a shadowy blue colour and tastefully mismatched sofas and armchairs mimicked their hues with complimentary cushions on the far end of the large area, the seats arranged in the non-existed heat of a hearth. Rugs lay scattered over the floor in no apparent rhythm but in a whole only aided in complimenting the comfortable ambience. Paintings lined the walls without cramming the space, he left their themes for future discovery and continued with her into the kitchen to stand before the isle she evidently used as a table as five high chairs stood around the granite slab.

A painting of a nude woman rounded like a typical Rubens hung on the wall next to her back door and he stepped nearer, inspecting her small signature in the corner before he pulled his gaze over the surface more carefully. The anonymous lady looked away from him into the wall of her room, her legs covered partially with a wet red drape and her hair also wet, twisted into a plait thrown over her shoulder.

Her strokes managed to catch all the fine details and textures in a way far different from his own devilishly detailed drawings.

"That's Lilith." She filled him in as she was pouring their wine.

"She doesn't look like the devil's wife." He looked at her now, waiting for an answer she immediately gave, her pallid face earnest.

"They never do... Would you like a glass of cabernet sauvignon?" She asked.

"Yes, thank you." He pondered her answer and continued his observation of her home. It was so different from his, or from anyone's he's seen so far; it felt like a colourful exhibition, exotic but elegant at the same time. Bronze sculptures of tall angelic creatures without apparent faces lined the shelves above the smaller sofa in the sitting room, the dim light reflecting from their rough skins and it looked like an exodus of angels cast from heaven.

Adelaide handed him a glass of blood red liquid and pinched the green bottle under her arm before offering him an explanation.

"We're eating outside, it's spring." She said simply. Her hair hung in her face like it had before, he felt and suppressed the sudden urge to fix it and started toward the backdoor instead.

They walked through the garden in silence, the darkness all around them broken by the tapering pool's bluish light and the waning moon. The bed of heads were caught in the eerie light and long shadows crossed their angular faces. Hannibal approved the strong aroma of citrus and grass as he looked into the thicket of dense orange trees to where she had laid their table in the brightly lit gazebo. The tablecloth was pure white with crystalline plates of different shapes and sizes, new candles but only needing an arrangement of flowers, perhaps lilies, something repeating the stark white.

He pulled her chair out for her and remained standing next to it until she sat down. Then he started opening the smouldering containers and introducing the dishes as he arranged them on the crystalline plates she had set. Her expression looked pleased and pleasantly surprised at his menu for the evening he noted as he sat down opposite her, unfolding a napkin for his lap.

"You are not a religious man?" she asked in the gap where a prayer for the food should have gone.

"No, certainly not. I find God man's greatest blunder."

"Nietzsche." She caught the quote he had answered with. "I don't consider myself a religious – spiritual maybe... but I think there was _some_ inconceivable maker of our perfection."

"Agnostic then."

"Yes, I suppose."

They ate in silence for a while; savouring the taste and the fresh tang in the spring air.

"Tell me about yourself Adelaide." He enquired after a while. She sat still for a moment, her grip loose around her fork.

"I'm a stranger to the world of ordinary men with insatiable need to express my mind and soul... but I think you already made the analysis so I'll share with you something you'd never have guessed."

He raised his brows questioningly at her and thought that he did indeed like her inquisitive gaze as he examined her, it travelled everywhere, the eyes of an artist, trying to absorb everything into their own, quite reserves.

"I like soap operas." They shared a short laugh before he commented.

"Sounds like a lot of drama, Adelaide."

"That's off the top of my head, how about yourself?"

"I am a doctor of psychiatry; I practice privately but used to work as a surgeon in the past." He took a sip of wine after swirling it around the bottom of the glass to release the rich flavours.

"That doesn't say much."

He stroked his chin and added playfully, "I enjoy cooking ... and long walks on the beach too."

For two hours and fifteen minutes Hannibal and the woman talked quietly. The doctor had taken of his suit jacket and remained in a satin vest as they moved back inside with the plates and cutlery before retiring to the living room. A two-seater he hadn't noticed before was dragged in front of the hearth at an awkward angle, he tried not to pay it any heed as they sat down, he had offered to build a fire as she brewed a pot of tea for them.

"You play the saxophone?" He asked as he gestured to a case on the far side of a sofa

"Saxophone, organ, piano, flute and cello."

"How about your voice?"

"No." She breathed, "I can't reach the high notes without a flute."

"Would you play for me?" Hannibal asked suddenly, setting his near empty cup down on the side table.

Adelaide nodded and rose from the seat, walking into the door of the mystery room, and exiting moments later with a much larger leather case. She positioned herself behind her cello on a chair, resting the neck of the instrument on her shoulder before starting abruptly with a long, dramatic stroke. He admired the curving line her key bone made and found himself studying the silky leg that the material had slid off of as she sat down, the glimpse of a thigh she seemed oblivious to.

He started noticing the sounds from the snares she caressed. It was the prelude of Bach's cello suite no. 5. Hannibal closed his eyes, lost in the notes she played from memory.

Adelaide was watching the man through lidded eyes as she played on, his eyes fluttered shut and she saw the emotion she knew he never even considered expressing honestly. She looked down; suddenly afraid he'd open his eyes and catch her eyes on him.

She glanced at him again at the end of her piece; he had opened his eyes again and set them intently on her, his irises looked almost black in the shadows. It reminded her of deep waters.

"Sublime, Adelaide." He praised her; she sat up a little straighter and grinned to one side.

"Might I be so bold as to ask if I may draw you?" Hannibal said after a moment of thought.


	3. Portrait of a lady

**Sigh, I'm so in love... and this story's going at the speed of a running train... **

**THAT'S WHY I think it's okay that this chapter is so short. Enjoy!**

She took in the room slowly, her eyes overwhelmed. Books were the most common object in the faultless study of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, they lined the walls in subjects varying from his immediate field to marine life. His passion for culture was evident in the array of frames housing she could make out Japanese ink drawings, quality prints of works of the old Renaissance masters, an African necklace made of ostrich shells and a couple of peaceful nature vistas.

Subtle olive green walls and pillars reaching into two landings formed his large study; broadly striped red and white statement curtains focused the room and between them stood a healthy potted ficus tree. A range of modern and vintage collection furniture pieces bought the natural shades of wood and comfort into his design.

Two sleek black leather armchairs with twin glass tables faced each other across a measured distance and behind them stood the matching chaise lounge she currently sat on, her legs leaning to the left in a chaste manner.

The doctor was seated at his sophisticated urban desk, his features illuminated by the light of a gold plated steel lamp bent over a single paper and three pencils. The fourth was still in his deft hands, the scalpel tracing over the lead tip in meticulous strokes, wooden peels falling into the small wastebasket at his feet.

He did not look at her, but she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was looking at ... Perharps even _thinking._..

Beethoven's moonlight sonata thickened the calm mood as the notes were carried through the air in sober pitches.

She swallowed when he looked back up to her, his severe eyes level with hers as he lowered his arm steadily to the paper. Continuing the sketch he had worked on for only five minutes so far.

They had had a magnificent dinner with a French name she didn't quite catch because she had lost the letters, sooner listening to his smooth voice pronouncing them flawlessly. The dessert was as amazing and she felt stuffed but very happy, or perhaps that was the wine telling tales...

She saw his jaw tightening a fragment before he rose unexpectedly, walking around his desk with the precise elegance she was getting used to. He approached her and lowered himself to his knee in front of her, his hands lifting to her neck where he proceeded unwrapping the slim white scarf she wore over a matching loose chiffon summer dress. Her stomach knotted.

His face was still devoid of any emotion as he folded and tossed the silky material over the chaise and brushed her hair lightly from her eyes. Hannibal sat back and ran his gaze over her face, checking for more faults and apparently not finding any more because he straightened and strode back to his ribbed back leather chair, picking up his pencil and raising his eyes to observe her again, soft lines lifting on his forehead with his light brows.

She was trying to make out the expression on the face of a marble bust standing behind Hannibal's shoulder on a bookcase when he suddenly spoke through Paganini's concerto no. 2.

"Adelaide, look at me." Their eyes met and she caught a trace of irritation from them. Heat crept up the sides of her neck and climbing into her face, tinting the ivory apples of her cheeks with a blush.

"Just lose your eyes, listen to the music." He said in a professional tone, the skin at the corners of his eyes creasing ever so slightly.

She flashed a smile and straightened her back like a puppet on strings, her eyes shut and the melody slowly kindling her interest.

The gentle touch of a hand around her knee woke Adelaide from her trance and her eyes fluttered open, Hannibal sat next to her on the seat, his lips carved into a smile making it harder to see the small scar running down underneath his right eye.

"I'm done." He said in his refined accent.

**Do you think I got his character right? Review, and tell me what you think, please!**


	4. The thing with blinds

**Mozart's "Lacrimosa" – the one he worked on in his final days battling disease... Is what I imagine playing in the background of THIS next short chapter... So... you know, be adventurous!**

**[ watch?v=k1-TrAvp_xs ]**

Two weeks had passed since Hannibal had drawn Adelaide's portrait, he was sitting at his desk again tonight, reading an article on in his dark office and half-listening to Mozart. An orange glow came in from the streetlamps and the bright tablet shone in his hands. The tiny frown that had been brooding between his brows disappeared as the sound of a vehicle pulling into the garage next door abolished his attention.

Hannibal glanced at his watch, it was 9:55 pm, Adelaide must have returned from her business trip. She had told him about her venture out of state to find an adequate gallery in which to have her next individual exhibition.

After 10 minutes he stood up and stepped up to the window facing his neighbour's home.

The lights were burning and spilling out onto the lawn outside. He imagined Mozart dying for a moment when the music floated dramatically through a series of low keys. He lifted his gaze to the second storey and froze, the pale and bloated Mozart expelled from the recesses of his mind like dirty bathwater in the 1800's.

The lady's blinds were tilted upwards, allowing him to see into her large bathroom window since his building stood lower than hers.

He felt impolite, _rude_, and Hannibal _disliked_ rude people but his thoughts procrastinated themselves as Adelaide appeared in the window, her back turned to him as he assumed she was looking in the mirror. She wore a semi translucent black robe, reaching high up her thigh and shifting even higher when she bent down to wash her face in the sink before she would climb into the bath steaming up the glass.

He was overstepping lines he drew himself but they blurred even more as the woman shed her little garment to the floor and gingerly stepped into the tub. His eyes had never travelled past her breasts as she sat down, her blonde head and pale shoulders the only thing now visible to his intrusive gaze.

Hannibal cocked his head and inhaled deeply, imagining her scent as he watched Adelaide continuing to brush oils into the length of her locks.

Dr. Lecter turned himself away, finally winning his internal argument with reason.

He pulled at the noose of his tie, tugging it looser as the image of her small, perk breasts swam through his mind.

It must be her smell, he argued, women, PEOPLE, _never _had an effect on his psyche, no _flesh_. He'd seen and mutilated far too many bodies to have "_interests"_ this carnal.

Hannibal was disappointed in himself. He removed his tie completely, jaw set tight.

**Remember to leave a review!**


	5. Doodles

**I'm back!**

Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake never lost it's peculiar enchantment, especially when it was performed by a company such as the Mariinsky Ballet. The tale had been re-enacted perfectly, not missing a single beat. The lovers on stage were about to end their own lives in order to be free from the evil Von Rothbart's spell when Dr. Lecter heard a faint ragged gasp to his right. He turned his chin an inch, catching sight of a fat tear mapping down Adelaide's cheek, her eyes distant and focused intently on the dancers. The sight threatened to make him smile but he suppressed it.

She has undoubtedly _known_ about the tragedy that awaited the souls but the magnitude of the act it seemed to have caught her in it's throes anyway.

As the concert drew to a close Hannibal shook his blue silk handkerchief open and turned again to his companion, fiddling about inside her small lace purse. He smiled openly at her when their eyes met; raising the material to her smudged make-up and drawing the dark stains away with the tip.

She blushed beautifully and thanked him with a wordless movement of her red painted lips. He stood and offered her his hand when another member of the audience pushed by them quietly.

One month had passed, two dinners shared between them somewhere in it's midst and Hannibal was content, there were few people whose attention he honestly agreed with but he had found her always a pleasant flavour. Like a touch of pepper to brighten a dull meat.

(The incident with the blinds went unmentioned even in the privacy of his skull. It did not sit well with him.)

He had pondered the limits of her deeply morbid interests and longed to measure hers to his own - of course he knew she was no murderer, that was _his _design, and he considered her simply too much in touch with her human soul to be able to find entertainment in truly wicked acts of sadism ... but he wondered all the same.

He had also found his mind wandering about many other subjects and ideas indecisively; he wasn't sure _what_ he really wanted her to be. He knew of the stern limitations he had in the area of emotion and did not attempt to push himself where he knew he was able nor keen to go.

Nonetheless, he had had a fine evening of culture and company.

Her arm was tucked into the crook of his as her neighbour accompanied her on a walk from his driveway to her porch.

"Please come inside?" she said gently, like he might not desire it.

"With pleasure." He replied, needing no second invitation.

She unlocked the door nimbly with her gloved hands and stepped inside, holding the door open for the doctor. He closed it behind him carefully and followed her upstairs.

Adelaide wore an elegant high-waist crimson dress nearly enveloping her feet with flowers of scare gold and red finely embroided on the upper piece slanting down her chest to reveal a taunting swell of cleavage. Hannibal was as always, dressed in a tailored suit – this particular one with fine pinstripes running down the length and _as always _wore a pale shirt with an exotic tie retaining his professional air.

She poured them both a tot of tawny port in long stemmed glasses and carried them over to where her guest sat on the two-seater in front of her empty fireplace. He leaned forward and accepted the drink with a polite smile, waiting until she sat down before swirling the liquid and sampling it expertly on his pallet.

They sat together in comfortable silence for a few minutes before something new in his hand seized her consideration. He had picked up one of her many sketchbooks on the side table where she'd been drawing the night previous.

"NO!" She yelped in alarm, her face flushed.

Hannibal paused as he was about to crack the book open.

"Why?" He asked with a feigned innocent question. He knew what she was afraid of, of course, _discovery _of a very private part of the demon driving her to create as she did.

As if reading his mind she protested, locking her fingers around the covers he held on his lap; "There'd be little secrets left." Her imagination wild, dreading with the memory of the images held in the private sketchbook.

"I'll show you mine." He said levelly, bargaining like an old diplomat.

An eye for an eye... Her mind raced around the possible themes of the art of his he was offering to show her, finding none she would find a surprise –

But her insipid curiosity got to her first.

"Deal." She put her hand out to him, for good measure, to bind it as a promise.

"Bring the book." He said, holding it out to her when he got to his feet after they shook hands, smiling evenly at her.

Adeliade rose after him, holding it a little too protectively, but only Hannibal saw the tension in her hand. His own curiosity straining dangerously.

His private sketches got to go first. A classic style nude –drawn from a live model? She couldn't say. Architectural drawings; perfectly drawn facades, pillars, windows, reflections. Watercolour sketches of fruit, birds, a stag, severed antlers...

"This has been censored, Hannibal." Adelaide said after she'd paged through his sketches on a small three-legged table standing against a pillar behind his desk.

The light was low, springing from the array of lamps lit across the room. He had mentioned casually to the heap of paper after he set them down for her to inspect.

"That's everything." He said, "I kept up my end." The corners of his eyes crinkled, his accent breaking into the words he murmured.

After a moment ticked by between their stoic bodies, Hannibal reached for the book in her arms, pulling it free of her grip and flipping the cover open in one movement before snapping it shut with an afterthought.

"Let's sit down."

His last words unsettled her more than anything else and her brain squirmed as they went over to the chaise lounge together.

The first sketch she remembered drawing while slightly intoxicated three months ago. A woman lying on her upper back, shoulders pressed into the ground and hips raised, one leg stretched out, the other held by another woman.

The other woman peeled the skin from the leg of her partner like stockings, the scene did not seem melancholic at all, but rather intimate and ecstatic by the emotion etched into their slightly defined faces. The figures wore no clothing, sitting unabashed opposite each other.

The doctor's eyes lingered on the pair for a fair moment before he glanced up to her, meeting her scrutinizing gaze on him.

His eyes betrayed no emotion and he looked squarely back at her.

He turned the page, figures of men, sitting on their knees whipping themselves like ancient Christian priests did. Coarse robes lay bundled on the floor beneath them.

The next pages all depicted either slight or blatant erotic scenes, laid down crudely and expressionistically on the paper. Men and women locked in intimate embraces, never once though, did she focus on anatomy other than the breasts of the females she realized, thankful that she would at least not appear as tasteless - she hoped.

She was suddenly very glad for the many missing pages in the hardback.

"How many partners have you had Adelaide?" He interrupted her anxious thoughts calmly.

"Two, in high school." She replied, deciding to push back at her embarrassment. She had no need to feel like a child, but she felt exposed to her core and could feel her blush rising.

Hannibal paged back, to her dread, and splayed a set of pages open. A woman, sitting placidly on a window sill with the black night sky at her back, stretched over both sheets: from all over her skin faint roses grew as large as her head.

"I like this one." He stated, continuing to exam the work, his fingers a careful distance from the edges in fear of smearing the black, blue and red pastels.

Adelaide could not find her voice to answer, she had drawn it about twenty hours ago on a random place in the middle of the book, did he know it was her latest work of art?

Dr. Lecter leaned over to her slightly, his fingers combing her hair away from her brow like he did before.

"Why are you so full of fear, Adelaide?"

"You're holding shreds of my soul, Hannibal." She countered. He must understand... and he did, he just wanted to hear the words she chose to answer with.

He was very close to her; she could smell spearmint and faint aftershave on him.

He pulled his hand through the rest of her hair. Closing his fist around a lock and bringing the length to his nose, tracing his chiselled mouth over the soft texture as he breathed her in.

She placed a hand at the side of his face, half into his hair on impulse - to try and exercise some kind of control over the situation.

He regarded her with sober eyes for a dangerous moment of limbo before his eyes cleared with a decision and he rubbed his cheek up her hand like a feline, famished for attention.

She felt his hand twisting into the hair at the nape of her neck, his fist strangling her mane and bringing her face closer to his own.

_"I want to dissect you." _He hissed into the shell of her ear, his composure unravelling.

Adelaide gasped involuntarily at his hot breath, throwing her head back to look into his clouded eyes.

Then his lips were hard on her own, his tongue moving swiftly, already demanding entrance by pressing at her teeth. She tried to keep up with him, moving both hands to cup his face as he drew her into him; one hand tightening at the base of her throat, the other still lost using her hair as leverage.

The phone rang then, breaking through the cocoon of his spell.

"This time of night? I didn't know you worked for the FBI?" her mind whirled with adrenaline and confusion.

"_with _them_, _I help out sometimes... I have to go Adelaide," Hannibal paused, his voice Death's, "I want you to know I _do_ regret that."

**R & R! **


	6. What do you do when you need to think?

**First off – thank you so much for all the support! – the reviews, follows & favourites, they really keep an author going.**

**... so I realised it's easy to forget the man we're dealing with – the psychopath – the ****_murderer_**** and the mentality around it. **

**I strive for a bit more realistic depiction of Hannibal, not another Romeo gone all soft like a biscuit dropped in milk... **

**And we can't have that, can we now? **

**[This chapter contains a bit of vi·o·lence]**

It wasn't that he was being sloppywith the new girl; it just felt like he'd been eating too fast, like he didn't have time to chew properly – but there were no one else to blame but himself.

She lay on the cemented bank of the Baltimore River, her head turned away from him, she wasn't moving. The headlights beamed in the darkness of the surrounding shipyard. That's why it felt hurried, he decided and folded his arms, it was the improvised atmosphere of it all...

Dr. Lecter scolded himself for being so negative, at the very least he would be able to finally get his head clear.

He stooped and turned the girl to her side, he had sedated her with a careful dosage of etorphine so that she would still be able to use her sensory system when he got to work on her after she'd woken.

Her eyes flickered open then, glassy and confused and he could see her try and make ends meet.

"Don't you just wish you were someone else?" He mocked in a grave voice, smiling brightly and walking away to check on the other two girls in the trunk, they were awake too, more so than the one he'd already taken out.

He'd given it much thought; it'd been too long since he'd spent some proper, personal time. He felt like he was unravelling, fraying at the edges or curling in the corners like a page from some overused handbook and it would go on no longer. Hannibal did not need any extra complications, the _friends_ he had fought to make bought enough, _she_ was getting too close for comfort and he was letting her closer each time they were together. The price for good company, companionship was too high and he had checked his finances, he could not afford to waste a penny on something he didn't really need.

It was not in his nature to collect strays like Will Graham did. Hannibal needed _reasons - good _reasons.

Again, there were no one to blame but himself. And it needed to stop, the frivolous game he had no reason to partake in.

He would let her go softly so there wouldn't be any awkwardness but all expectations would be stripped away.

A cold gust of wind wafted past him and he clasped his hands behind his back, revelling in the smell of fresh blood and fear travelling past him.

They looked like a bunch of grapes, or maybe rather bananas.

Definitely bananas, only... with more red.

The three girls were strung up in a bunch by their feet, hooks from the boat cranes used to keep them were them suspended above the gravel at the edge of the water. Hannibal took his sweet time sharpening his favourite scalpel and admiring the view like one would a sunset from the steps leading up to the stores.

The one with the reddish hair wriggled but made no sound, he'd made sure that none of them would bother him with screaming or pleading, he'd hear them all an in every pitch. The vocal cords were being eaten by the fish scavenging for food in the water.

They couldn't look at him with all the blood running into their eyes so he shook out his handkerchief again, regretting that he would have to burn it and wiping most of the clotted liquid away, reminding him of Adelaide at the concert but this bunch wasn't anywhere near smiling as prettily as she did.

Yes, he did notice and appreciate beauty, the _pretty things _God put on this green earth.

But he could not be controlled by it, in no way, he had to have the reigns.

What would reigns mean when the horse is wild?

He snapped his irritable thoughts back to reality when he ran the sharp edge of the slender blade in his hand over the soft skin of the nearest sheep's face, hard enough to draw more beads of blood. Cheeks were soft and the flesh would be perfect for a stew.

No, a salad, that would place more emphasis on the meat.

So he took their cheeks and thought of Adelaide.

He thought of her while he wrapped the tender meat carefully in cloth, when he checked their dying pulses under the dried blood, when he was cleaning up after himself and when he drove away - the clouds cleared from his head... or maybe there were more than before now? Perhaps he'd only made it worse, he could smell the rain carried on the air with the wind, he could smell a storm brewing.

**Love to hear your thoughts!**


	7. Surrender

**Hello again, and welcome to the fateful night.**

He invited her to dinner again, to cut the tumour from his thoughts permanently.

Hannibal planned on finding the perfect moment before he made his move; it felt like a game of chess, against himself.

They shared a dinner of classic French green salad with small cuts of meat flame cooked with houlimi cheese cubes. He poured them both a generous glass of merlot infused with raspberries and cherries with hints of vanilla and cinnamon to create a smooth finish to the meal.

His eyes rarely left her as he watched her eat, though both were mostly silent, only smelling the tang of the coming storm and wondering when it would strike.

It's not that Hannibal didn't know what to say, he always did, it was a gift. He was just searching for the right window to open and his guest wasn't at all talkative tonight.

So he played for time.

"I'd like to draw you again." He started, knowing that she would not refuse him.

"Another portrait?" She asked after sipping on her wine, her light eyes inquisitive.

"No," He mused as he decided to go with the new version of the plan he was busy improvising. "-the bigger picture."

More time. _Time _to find that moment he was waiting for, _time _to rub the part of him wanting a _pretty thing_ to play with into the dust. The very same part that also wanted to choke the life out of her, to watch it leave her eyes and all that... but his ever present sense of honed logic made him understand that he'd only be able to have it once then, if he acted on that _particular _desire - one mere moment alone.

And he was really starting to despise himself.

So he left the room, fetching a neatly folded white sheet in the cupboard upstairs and spreading it over the chaise lounge before he gestured for her to sit down. He retrieved his pencils and a clean leaf of paper like before, continuing to sharpen the pencil over the wastebasket.

He had an image in his mind of what he wanted the drawing to look like at the end, it was going to be perfect and the _only _thing he wanted left of her after tonight.

She seemed a bit on edge, like she knew everything. Her brows was drawn together like a spoilt child, she was dreading something, desiring something but not willing to beg for it. Somewhere in between she lingered, much like he had been lingering before a second ago.

He bade her to lie down on her side and she followed his instruction obediently, propped up on her elbow and watching him with wandering eyes, something brooding inside their depths, fighting to rebel.

Hannibal sat back in his chair and looked at the young woman. Considering where he'd start.

SsSs

He was in the middle of making a basic sketch of her entire anatomy before he started with adding details when she kicked off her dark green kitten heels and took a deep breath..

Hannibal's gaze remained on her face for a beat before he resumed drawing, his back straight, glancing up every now and then to catch a new detail of her to put in his illustration.

"Get a new paper." She said suddenly, watching his eyes harden for just a moment.

"Why?" he asked her quietly.

"Just trust me." She smiled briefly, reassuringly, like he always did.

Hannibal rose slowly, pushing back his chair as he did, his eyes never once leaving her until he turned around to find a new paper in the cabinet behind his desk.

He heard the soft rustle of clothing and resisted the urge to twist back to see what was going on, he opted to use the moment to gather himself.

He wasn't completely prepared for what he saw when he turned back though.

But he made sure nothing showed on his face and sat himself down, looking down at the paper, not trusting his wilful gaze just yet.

SsSs

Adelaide had pulled down the tight black skirt she wore with a soft lace top tucked into it at her waist. She was currently removing the pearly buttons from their holes at snail's pace, watching him watching her.

It was only when she shrugged the flimsy material from her back that he found himself staring and picked up the only pencil he hadn't sharpened yet, starting work on it as she took her time undressing further.

SsSs

He raised his head, expecting to see her completely undressed and found his prediction accurate.

Adelaide was sitting much like she had first been sitting when she was clothed but her back was now turned on him slightly, the side of one small breast visible to him from underneath the arm she held around her knee.

He wanted to clean his throat but considered the message it would send and opted for starting to draw anew, ignoring the many desires of the flesh.

SsSs

Hannibal would only have taken another twenty minutes before he was done with his sketch but Adelaide had her own agenda. She turned suddenly, watching him cautiously and he knew his mouth had twitched and gave his annoyance away.

He had just become accustomed to her lounging on the same seat his patients sat on during their sessions and she ruined his concentration and consequently the rest of the sketch he was making of her while silently absorbing all the details of her body's contours into his greedy memory.

Adelaide faced him full on now, all her squirming and shame of the other night evaporated completely.

"I'm done." She said, her words meaning nothing at all but filling the air between them with something other than cold air.

Hannibal rose and she mirrored his action.

He walked over to where she now stood, stark naked except for the small piece of black material hiding her sex.

She looked genuinely surprised when he slapped her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand, the sound daring to echo through the room.

He used her next moment of confusion to step into her personal space, the hand he struck her with at her hip and the other at her ribs, urging toward her back rather than breast. Her skin was very cold.

Adelaide's eyes were watering slightly as they attempted to burn into his soul, screaming at him.

It was the second time he'd seen her tears now. She was frowning darkly, the corners of her mouth turned down.

Hannibal leaned his still mouth against her, wanting to make her go away, to frighten her.

He thought he had succeeded when he felt a shiver down her spine.

SsSs

Her arms came up, over his own until they were around his neck. Then she opened her mouth over his unmoving lips, biting his lower lip firmly between her teeth and suckling softly at it all the while looking into his open eyes.

He heard the girl inhale against the skin at his cheek, and he realised there would be no window tonight.

Hannibal took hold of her chin, pulling her face away from his and pressing her head back to expose her white neck.

He bent to drag his lips across it, smelling the roses and imagining them growing from her skin. He bared his teeth when he found her collarbone and bit at the shape under the skin without tenderness, he listened to her breath hitch, her heart hammering loudly on her ribs and through her veins.

Adelaide's fingers tugged at the material of his jacket, trying to peel it off of him. He took her arms and pinned it to her sides with ease as she struggled.

"Not here." He declared.

SsSs

Hannibal led her to his private rooms, she walked in front of him, his hand clenching her shoulder as he steered her. They entered and he closed the door with his foot. His eyes hooded and sparkling with some unidentifiable thoughts.

He told her to sit on the bed and face the wall it was pushed up against like someone usually sleeping alone. He waited and disappeared from view after she obediently clambered on and turned away.

SsSs

His hands found her shoulders in the gray darkness of the room after an eternity of waiting. She shuddered and slid backwards, trying to find the solidness of his body behind her but he pushed her forward up on all fours.

Hannibal remained indecisive for a moment and then he was turning her on her back again, using his strong hands to manipulate her movements.

As she lay under him, she could see his shape looming over her, highlighted by the silver light from the waxing moon hanging high in the window frame.

She used her fingers to find his bare chest and started rubbing small circles on the skin; he seemed uncomfortable, or perhaps she just thought he was because she knew there was no way he did this often. Adelaide felt the fine hair on his chest and lowered her hands, intending to find where the hair ceased.

Hannibal came from his pensive state quickly as she rolled her palms over his abdomen; he grasped her wrists in a vice grip and pinned them above her head hard enough to bruise the skin.

He felt the huff of breath she released in shock and bent down to her pressing his nose up her chest, smelling her sweet untainted scent.

He flicked his tongue out, finding she tasted as good as she smelled.

His teeth closed around a rock hard nipple and she squirmed at the force he used. He was punishing her flesh, dragging his teeth over it and making her cry out softly.

She realised he only held her tighter the more she wriggled to get her hands free but she was itching to touch him back, to make him feel what she did. She resorted to balling her fists helplessly.

He was lavishing attention on her other breast and she arched herself into his mouth, yelping as he bit down harshly.

Hannibal thought she tasted like lamb's meat, and he was eating at her slowly, savouring the taste melting on his tongue as he broke the skin on her chest.

He thought he heard her crying out his name, panic and desire thick in her voice. He found her mouth with his own, sharing her blood with her. His breath became ragged on her lips as she lapped up the ruby nectar from his, her tongue even reaching his chin.

"Please..." she begged near his ear.

He released her wrists and slid his hands down to the dip of her waist, moving her up a few inches on the mattress and then tugging at her ribs to encourage her to sit up. She rose with the support of her elbows and allowed him to spread her legs easily with one knee before he shifted her onto him, his erection pressing against her stomach.

Adelaide held onto his arms and ground her hips against him wantonly.

Hannibal growled and impaled her suddenly, in a single stroke he was reduced to an animal. She cried out in pain, her hands snaking around his neck and holding him closer to her, breathing into his neck as he stretched her to her limit.

He'd only rocked them together for a few seconds before her slick warmth became too much for him to bear, he pushed her back, his hands closing around her throat and his pace becoming rougher as he breathed in the musky scent rising between them.

Lust was all she could smell off of him.

He heard her choke, her breath coming laboriously in long gasps.

He took a second drinking in her pale image, struggling for air while getting what she wanted all along. Then he released her windpipe and planted his hands on either side of her head; he felt the sheen of sweat building on his own skin too as he pushed deeper and deeper into Adelaide, spurred on by the devil of her moans and her hands all over him.

Hannibal considered crying out to whatever god for the first time in his life as her walls clenched tightly around him, but instead he lifted her thigh to hook around his waist, crushing harder into her and threatening to break her beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, tearing into the skin and causing him to pull out of her and grip her waist violently, throwing her on her stomach mainly to get her nails away from him.

She mewled as he pulled her hips back up to him; he positioned himself at her entrance and struck back into her, eliciting a whimper badly concealed as another moan from her lips.

It only took three more strokes before he bucked into her, spilling his seed deep inside her and squeezing her against him for a last moment.

"Let me give you something for your cheek." He said, almost softly as he rolled her back to face him, both panting.

**R & R! 3**


	8. Destructive Tendencies

**A/N: The season finale was amazing! When Hannibal smiled at the very end, I couldn't help but swoon... condolences to Will... but that had to happen... Hannibal can't be locked up (****_sigh_****, just yet...)**

**I love writing this lemony goodness, girls don't need porn, we have FFiction!**

He loomed over her, gently dabbing a wet cotton ball to the bruise on her cheek.

"Well, this was a great start." She said dryly, smiling.

They were both fully dressed again, the woman was perched on a high chair in the kitchen.

"I will not apologize..." he paused briefly, "you are _quite _insufferable, Adelaide." He said softly, meaning every word but uttering them with the edge of what could be interpreted as a joke.

Their eyes met again, for a second before Hannibal cleared his throat briefly.

"Let me take you home."

SsSs

They were standing on the porch of her home ten minutes later; the night was technically starting to turn into morning.

"Thank you Adelaide, for the evening."

"I should thank _you _Hannibal; I haven't enjoyed myself like that for quite some time."

In his mind, Hannibal agreed but he chose to rather run his thumb over where he hit her, watching her alabaster skin and the powdery blue veins underneath.

_Royalty's skin _he thought.

They were standing close together and her eyes were sparkling with excitement he would understand just a moment later.

Adelaide shifted, the palm of her hand brushing up his thigh and ceasing at his groin.

He froze involuntarily as when she splayed her fingers over him, he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when she stood on her toes and licked the shell of his ear.

She giggled at his thinly veiled reaction and pressed her lips to his.

It felt like the first time again. Their lips moved together clumsily, biting, tasting and pulling at each other.

Hannibal wrapped an arm over her lower back, deepening the kiss and their proximity. He could smell her all around him. Lust was clouding his mind and he stepped back, releasing her as he did so. He caught her disappointed gasp.

"Not here." She threw his earlier words back at him hastily, making him chuckle quietly, her hands still on his chest.

She turned and opened the door swiftly, letting him in, and touching his chest again just as he stepped inside.

He wiped the smile off of her face with another kiss quite like the first; she was putty in his hands and he confirmed it when he pushed her up against the wall of the dark forest of her foyer with no effort at all.

Adelaide only fought back with her lips and tongue, her breath heavy and he could smell her moisten. A warm, musky scent contradicting her typical light aroma.

Hannibal kept her pinned to the trees with his weight; his hands were free to roam up and down the sides of her body.

She had one arm around his back for support, the other hand was pinched in between them, caressing him and invoking anger in the depths of his mirror-smooth sea of calm.

He picked her up easily and she wrapped her arms around his neck, teasing at his neck with her teeth as he carried her up to the suspended landing like a new bride.

The bed was silver all over, different textures of material creating various shades of grey illuminated by the soft light of the same moon that had watched them sweat only a while ago. He was vaguely pleased at the sight of the lines of bookcases lining the walls, but he had more pressing matters at hand right now.

SsSs

He laid them down gently on the down covers and burned a path down her neck with his grazing lips, she arched her body to him and gasped as she felt his knuckle dragging over the skin between her breasts as he popped the pearly buttons open one by one. She helped him discard of her clothes until she was in her underwear before tugging his tie loose and unbuttoning his vest and shirt so he could shrug them off.

Adelaide caught his eyes sauntering over her body – he was completely distracted, she realised. So she took her chance, rolling them over and straddling his hips. He licked his lips. She ran her hands down his bare torso to the buckle of his belt; he made no move to protest. Her hair tickled him as she trailed kisses down his body, shifting lower and finally off of the mattress, so she was down on her knees in front of him, her fingers hard on his thighs.

Hannibal sat up and ran a hand through his hair; he did not look _at all_ like his usual self. Adelaide smiled up at him, her eyes half closed as she reached to free his length from his trousers. His hand gripped her hair roughly when she lowered her lips softly over him, his hips lifted and he groaned. He forced her head down and she fought not to gag, she quickly resorted to swirling her tongue around him and pushing against his strength holding her down, he budged a few inches and she ran her tongue up his member before swallowing him again. He broke the deathly silence with a grunt and she felt him move his hips again, Adelaide gagged and fought with him to raise her head.

It felt like she'd been submerged underwater for too long when he finally seemed to decide to allow her up, the air stung her lungs when she gasped and then coughed. His hand was still in her hair, the other gripping her upper arm now, pulling her up. She had little time to think on his destructive tendencies and the thought that this _might _be bad for her health never once even crossed her enamoured mind.

He dragged her up and stood with her, her legs were struggling to support her and she leaned into his mercy. Hannibal gripped both her arms and tossed her onto the bed like a doll, he covered her body with his own immediately after, he was close to kissing her but seemed to think better of tasting himself in her mouth and moved rather to separate her legs. She wondered what it was he was feeling the moment when he let his fingers travel over her body eternally, pausing at her neck and flitting over her breasts. His eyes were darkened with desire and the set lines at his mouth and brows sought to tell that he was livid at something or someone... had she done something wrong?

Hannibal tore her silky lingerie off of her with ease, Adelaide's fingers curled into the bedding when she felt him run a finger down her slit tentatively. She moved with his slow finger exploring her, he was winding her up and watching her go beneath him as he stroked her. Her eyes fluttered closed and she bit her lip in effort to keep herself from being noisy.

She did scream despite her intention when he buried himself in her with a sound in between a growl and a guttural moan.

He held her up, watching her body arch as her legs wrapped around his hips and her hands fumble to his upper arms to keep herself up. His thrusts were brutal and he only kept increasing his pace, his hips grinding against hers with each entry.

Her moans got louder as he thrust harder into her, gritting his teeth, his head tilted back into the shadows of the landing. She tightened her muscles around him and watched as he descended on her, burying his head underneath her chin, she felt him bite and lick at her skin and her nails dug into his arms at the ethereal sensation of pleasure and pain mixing into an unbearable tempest clouding her mind. She was flattened to the bed beneath him, writhing in pleasure, her legs tightened around him and she finally gave in, curving her hips up and drawing blood from his back as she came.

He looked up at her, his fiery brown eyes fixated on hers, watching her lips open and close unintelligibly. Hannibal felt her body shuddering beneath him, tipping him over the edge as well.

Then Adelaide was purring his name and stroking his head resting on her heaving chest.

SsSs

He waited until he was dead sure she was asleep before he got up and dressed cautiously in the semi-darkness.

Two lamps lent their light to the landing and his eyes fell on the open door of her walk-in closet. His curiosity got the best of him and he slipped inside, a simple thing such as a wardrobe held a mass of information on the owner.

The clothes were sorted into neatly folded piles according to colour; the pieces on hangers were sorted into various outfits already planned out for the future. He opened a drawer and found her lingerie bundled inside randomly, lace, ribbons and frills creating a mesh of colour.

Three velvet mannequin heads donned all her different jewellery and severed hands shone with rings and bracelets.

Hannibal looked his fill and was about to walk down the stairs leading to the main landing when he turned back to Adelaide's sleeping form. She was sprawled on the bed, one leg tangled in a thinly woven blanket and her long hair spilling over the pillows; her hands were tucked underneath her face in an innocent manner. The moonlight caused her skin to glow, her body and hair equally white. He stood in wonder for another beat before he left.

**Remember to leave a review and share your thoughts!**


	9. The photograph

**Did I say he left? Hah! Well, he didn't! : P **

In the darkness of the main landing Hannibal saw the shape of the mysterious door, the fingers of his left hand twitched involuntarily toward it. He grimaced as he walked over to the room he once saw Adelaide disappear into to fetch her cello, he knew to choose a better time to satisfy his curiosity but he wasn't keen on it. He was just scanning after all.

Hannibal turned the knob with all the patience in the world and slipped inside without a single sound. Satisfied that the closed door would keep the light secret, he searched in the dark for the switch on the wall near the door. He detected the heavy smell of turpentine in the air, accompanied more subtly by the trace of sweet incense.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the sudden light threatening to blind him.

The room was full, chaotic, colourful – overwhelming. The ceiling was high, the length of the entire house, lined with paintings of all shapes and sizes. He even spotted a few posters and photographs pinned up along the canvases. A tall ladder, splattered with paint, workbenches – with paint stains – a single barstool at a high table, not without a fair share of smears. He had no doubts, this was the artist's studio.

He counted two large black sculptures; they seemed to have been made from clay and then blackened by fire, judging by the smell of it. They stood at the far side of the room next to a low bench; the creatures were created a pair, two stags with their dark horns interlocked, and the bone seeming to have grown together in their timeless struggle. Their bodies were smooth and devoid of any rough textures, only light cracks webbed over their husks.

Hannibal stood for a moment, looking at the room from the door before he turned his attention to a random desk standing against the wall near him; there was an array of dirty brushes laid out on an old rag next to a drying canvas. The small tubes of oil paint looked like they were shaken from an empty jar now residing on the floor.

Only the colours of fire were moulded together on the surface of the painting and he found himself intrigued by the ferocity behind the image.

This must be one of her newer creations, not older than a few days. It wasn't much yet, but he could make out the outlines of what looked like a burning city_. _

_Perhaps Rome_, he mused and bent down for a closer look, his hands clasped behind his back.

Flames licked from the windows and doorframes of countless homes shaped from slack brown lines.

His trained eye caught on a glossy piece of paper, sticking from it's hiding place between the unruly pages of a folder underneath the dirty rag. It looked like it was meant to be stowed out of sight...

Hannibal plucked the tightly folded square out and inspected it. The paper was worn and thin, like it had been carried with someone for many years.

He started unfolding the flat parcel with great care.

It was a photograph... he paused... and frowned...

It was a _bad _photograph... heavy with movement and too little light.

But he could see what it was as clear as daylight.

The terrified face of a middle-aged man looked up at him, the eyes were wide, brows knotted and his mouth drew a perfect "o". His skin was slick with sweat running into his light beard and matting his white-blonde hair to his forehead. A blotch of colour stood out from the shadow obscuring his chin, but it looked like it could be blood. The picture was taken in his face, hastily, almost like an accidental shot...

But it must've been on purpose.

Hannibal had killed many men before; he'd seen their faces as they died - the shock writ over their features. _This, _this was a photo of a dying man, he'd bet his neck.

And Hannibal did not gamble.

He took a moment, drew a deep breath and slipped the flat parcel into his pocket as he turned off the light again.

He waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness before he slipped out just as he had come in.

**So... what do you think? R&R (it means the world!)**


	10. Recollections

He called her on her home phone in the afternoon; he was bringing dinner to her home the following day.

Adelaide immediately called her usual salon for a wax and to get her nails done. She was feeling a bit giddy, like she was tipsy. She remembered the feeling; it was horrible and great at the same time, being in love.

SsSs

Hannibal _had_ already done a background check on his lover, but now he was looking for something specific. He checked local British newspaper archives, blogs, everything he could find. His search was rewarded after a while by a golden article, or rather tragic, he didn't care.

**_"Daughter orphaned after local businessman burns to death in home."_**

He smiled to himself as he read, his speculations confirmed.

**_"19 year old escaped the flames – father trapped –"_**

He met the word trauma four times in the article. Hannibal sat back in his chair, his hand resting underneath his chin as he thought. Again, his eyes found the unfolded photograph lying spastically on his desk.

SsSs

They had a pleasant dinner and had been chatting idly for a while before Hannibal asked Adelaide for a tour of her studio.

SsSs

Adelaide lead him into her studio and when she seemed unsure as to where to start the tour he asked what meaning the sculpture of the two fighting stags held, his hands were clasped behind his back like before.

"It's nothing deep, really..." she hesitated. "I saw them in a dream, and it bothered me so much that I made them."

He nodded as he combed over the chaotic content of the room again. Adelaide turned to move a chair out of the way and Hannibal took his chance to slip the folded photograph from his pocket, his hand hovered above the table where he first found it until she turned around. His action appeared natural, like he'd just discovered it but he was privately gauging her reaction.

She acted quickly, just as he predicted and slipped the photo in her brassiere where he assumed she had held it before.

_Very messy, _he thought. She would do well to be more careful about something so crucial. But of course, the signature of an amateur was unmistakable.

As if nothing had happened she continued showing him the unfinished work of the burning city, explaining that it was based on a photo she took in Florence a few months ago. She was talking a beat faster than usual.

The elephant was steadily growing larger in the room, he knew she felt it's presence too because he noticed the distinct red glow so familiar on her features, rising yet again.

It was almost humorous.

SsSs

"Why don't you take a seat, Adelaide." Hannibal suggested firmly, calmly.

They were back in her sitting room, having just exited the studio. He'd appeared genuinely interested in all her work even though he'd already inspected most of them on his previous visit.

She seemed surprised but took a seat on the awkward sofa in front of the empty hearth.

Hannibal picked up a green velvet armchair and set it down facing her. He kept his gaze level, locked with hers as he sat down. The house was silent and he waited a moment before he spoke.

"Tell me about your mother."

Adelaide frowned a moment, perhaps caught off guard.

"She died when I was 10. She was a nurse."

"How coincidental," Hannibal smiled. "My mother used to be a nurse too."

"Oh... she's deceased too then?" she faltered, not really asking a question. "I can't remember that much about her, I only know her face from pictures."

"How about your father?"

"What about him?" She asked, keeping her features neutral.

"Tell me about him."

"I – ah – he owned a bookshop."

"He's deceased?"

"Yes."

"I see..." Hannibal took a deep breath and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"What?" Adelaide asked, her brows drawn.

Hannibal sat forward, his elbows now resting on his knees and one thumb on the corner of his lips. He made the moment of silence longer, quietly testing the water.

"I know." He looked into her pale eyes. "I know what you did Adelaide."

"I don't understand." She said, her hands subtly twisting in her lap.

"Come now, you know what I'm referring to."

"I don't." She kept up, becoming more defensive.

"You killed him."

Her mouth fell open, her eyes widened.

It took her a while to get her bearings enough to talk again.

"_What_? How-"

Hannibal raised his hand, cutting her off.

"The photograph you took... and kept... that wasn't a smart move."

She stayed silent.

"Don't worry, Adelaide." He placed a reassuring hand on her knee, his eyes earnest. "I'm not to condemn you, I just want to know the truth_. _The truth no one else knows_"_

Silence.

"Why did you take the photograph?"

It took her another while.

"I... I never wanted to forget his face... when..."

"Yes?" He prodded softly.

"This is incriminating."

Hannibal sank to his haunches in front of her so he was lower than her.

He lifted a hand to trace her jaw with two fingers, his hand dipped down her neck and to her chest; down the line of her cleavage and into the long black dress she wore. He retrieved the folded parcel from her brassiere and held it between his two fingers like a bartender's tip.

"_This _is incriminating."

SsSs

He listened carefully as she told him about her father. She reminded him of the first night he met her – when he coaxed the cat to drop the toe.

Abusive father, long deceased mother, fed up daughter.

"I broke the cycle, I couldn't take it anymore." Her eyes bored into his as she broke the final confession and stood up. He watched her pace up and down, long black skirts swirling slightly. Her hand slid up to a knife on the kitchen counter she passed. He sat back, his legs crossed with his fingers steepled in front of him, pondering her recollection.

Adelaide picked up the knife and turned, the handle hung loosely in her palm. She returned, standing in front of him and touching his knee, then pushing his leg from the other.

She slid onto his lap, her knees pushing deep into the plush cushion of the chair as she straddled him with her hips. Silence enveloped them once again and their eyes ate at each other. He kept the knife in attention and even though he did not expect an attack of any sort, he kept his hands free just in case. She was close, her light scent surrounded him and, he found, excited him.

Hannibal observed a hint of arrogance festering in her eyes and to his surprise, she grinned despite of what she had just shared.

As quick as it came, her smile disappeared.

"I think..." She started. "You want to know _how_ it happened."

He did want to know, very much so, but _she_ shouldn't know that he wanted to know. Should she? Did it matter?

Hannibal chose to say nothing; he did cock his head to the side though, giving nothing of his burning away.

She bought the knife around, her grip still slack and pressed the tip gently against his sternum.

"He came to me," she breathed in her lightly accented voice, her flushed lips parted slightly.

"He touched me -" The tip of the blade traced down to his stomach.

"- and I gutted him," she paused and added an afterthought – "like a pig."

"But you couldn't leave without remembering his face."

"I was stupid."

"Young." He corrected, "You need to destroy your souvenir now, Adelaide." He paused.

"What did you do then?" He already knew the answer, but it was better that she didn't know that.

"I burned down his sty." Her voice was steady.

Hannibal smiled at her; she was watching him with dark lidded eyes smouldering like embers stolen from an eternal fire. He bought his hand to her neck, feeling her pulse flutter with twin fingers. He caressed her cheek like a reward.

Adelaide tightened her grip on the knife, turning it into a weapon.

"Take off your tie."

He felt a jolt of anticipation and did as she asked, choosing to enjoy this original moment unfolding between them.

"Your waistcoat... and shirt."

Hannibal complied with the wishes of the woman holding the knife against him, deciding that he did indeed like this games they played.

He'd never _dreamed_ that he would ever feel the way he did now.

She traced the blade up again, leaving a slight white line of pressure on his skin. He closed his hand over her small one holding the weapon and wrenched it from her grip.

"Get up."

SsSs

He stood behind her, her back pressed into his chest, the knife rested at her carotid artery before he moved it to cut the left shoulder of her dress and then the right. The material flopped over, revealing her bare breasts, the nipples hardening in the colder air.

"Take it off." He commanded coolly near her ear. She tugged the material at her hips and the dress gave way, pooling at their feet. He noticed her lack of underwear and all it implied but chose not to comment. The blade slowly slid between her breasts, he was admiring the marks where he'd broken her skin before, the tissue healing into temporary scars.

He pressed harder, beads of blood popping up as he cut into the pallid skin of her torso. She gasped and her body turned rigid in his embrace. Hannibal smelled blood and wicked arousal, he closed his eyes.

_If it were _anyone_ else..._

He pushed her hair aside to better see the silky strings of blood running to her hips and dripping over her navel. Her breath hitched at his ear, she'd bent her neck back and her hands had come up behind his head, holding him closer.

He dropped the knife and turned her to face him.

Hannibal bent his lips to her chest, tasting the blood streaking down.

**Would you like me to continue this one? R&R!**


	11. And how do we begin to covet?

**I'll take off where we left them then! **

**To those who went to the trouble of leaving reviews – you have my thanks : ) This one is for you! It's dirty and hot... I hope you don't mind...**

**(I never ****_really_**** know what to say in an author's note... or how some manage to put +-300 words into one of these... erm... so have a meaningful quote from the previous chapter:**

_"He did want to know, very much so, but she shouldn't know that he wanted to know. Should she? Did it matter?"_

**And enjoy this one!)**

**[RECAP] He pushed her hair aside to better see the silky strings of blood running to her hips and dripping over her navel. Her breath hitched at his ear, she'd bent her neck back and her hands had come up behind his head, holding him closer.**

**He dropped the knife and turned her to face him.**

**Hannibal bent his lips to her chest, tasting the blood streaking down.**

He sensed everything at once; her fingers tightening on his shoulders, her long nails aiding her grip, the smell of the blood he was following down her body until he kneeled in front of her, his hands whisking indecisively over her soft thighs. He heard her quiet breathing, he saw red.

And rather closed his eyes to better savour the smell of fresh, willing blood.

Hannibal flicked out his tongue, cleaning the swell of her hip.

_Taste is not only biochemical, it's psychological._

Adelaide's hands slid up to his neck to his jaw, he turned his head in her hands and lifted his thumb to her womanhood, finding her clitoris and raised his head to see the effect.

She swallowed and made the small purring sound he liked, her eyes locked with his. He stroked her gently, feeling the warm wetness gathering on his fingertips.

_Taste consists of 75% of smell._

His curiosity got the best of him and he bought his nose closer to his exploring hand.

He could feel the heat of her, and finally convinced himself to spread her wider to taste the dew off her.

Sweet, like if you'd make soup of an angel's cerebrum.

But it needed more spice.

Adelaide was clearly on another page than him; she moaned and whimpered helplessly underneath his ministrations. He didn't bother hiding his smirk; she'd know he enjoyed playing his power.

He patted her trembling thighs like one would a good horse's flank before rising, looming over her again. She stepped back on her own, looking over both shoulders in search for the sofa and moved to sit on the armrest.

Hannibal snorted at her intuition and followed close behind, turning and bending her over the side in one fluid movement before she could sit.

SsSs

Adelaide stifled a surprised yelp as she felt him part her buttocks, pressing against her, preparing to mount her from behind.

She felt him place a flat hand on her lower back before he pressed into her, winding his other hand into her hair and forcing her down as he started moving inside of her, sighing deeply.

He filled her to her limit, trying to push further still. She squirmed under the pressure and after a while he rested his lips on her spine, grunting as he lost himself diabolically inside her heat.

Her embarrassment at the awkward, inferior position she was in got lost in a swirl of stronger feelings as she started pressing her pelvis back, meeting his wild thrusts and she was content to hear him pant behind her.

Hannibal filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing until she arched her back, adoring the attention he lavished on her.

"Let me up." She breathed, her arms aching.

"Let me up." Adelaide tried again, finding her voice the second time.

A hand curled over her lower arm in a vice grip, yanking it out from under her and twisting it behind her back. She cried out in pain when he pulled her up by her arm.

She was leaning back against his heaving chest when he asked her;

"Excuse me?"

"I said, _let me up_." She hissed through gritted teeth and shivered when Hannibal caught her neck with his teeth, his breath hot against her skin.

"Alright." He mumbled.

He pulled out of her with a grunt, easily flipping her onto her bum after a moment of her silence. She did not believe she knew the side of the man fucking her at the moment very well. But she pressed her nails into his stomach anyway, trying to unearth his entire beast.

She trailed them up to his chest and challenged the stranger's steely gaze putting her down. She kissed the skin where her hands were while considering her next move but he cut her short.

SsSs

Hannibal realized he had three fingers parting her teeth as he gripped the soft flesh of her cheeks.

Hovering for a second before he tipped his head down, crushing his mouth into hers and giving into his greed, he was surprised to discover her sucking his bottom lip and turning his barbaric motion into a kiss of sorts.

SsSs

She felt nothing but his mouth on hers and she thought her heart had stopped.

He pulled back and she watched him lick at his own lips, like he tasted her all over again.

"_Thank you."_

She breathed her tardy reply for allowing her up against his damp skin, daring to take his rigid length into her hand as she was expressing her gratitude. She teased the sensitive flesh with agile fingers, and one of his stray hands found her breast again, kneeing single-mindedly at the supple shape.

His free hand danced down her hip, gripping her bottom firmly and lifting her leg around his waist. With the other he brushed her wanton hand away, pulling her nearer to him.

Adelaide moaned softly and raked her nails down the Hannibal's back as he entered her again.

She watched his eyes darken as she clenched down around him as tightly as she could, her nails digging deeper in effort. She'd seen from the previous time they'd been together what got _him _a little wound up.

Hannibal replied with deep, steady thrusts, relishing in the small sounds of urgency his mate made at the back of her throat as she turned shameless.

His pace became frenzied as he was pulled into the vortex of ecstasy building between them.

Adelaide leant back in his clawed hands, allowing him more depth.

Her head was spinning too fast for her to catch onto her own thoughts.

She could see his eyes glaze with ardour as if she was in a trance and vaguely felt him biting into her shoulder before taking a damaging hold on her hips and ramming himself into her body, burying his seed deeply within her with a final shove.

The world returned to them and they stilled. Their entwined bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, she held onto him until he gently pried her arms loose and picked her up.

** Hehe,** **I'll make time to get on with the storyline later - R&R!**


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